


baby pull me closer

by tsunderestorm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Glenn and Miklan are an unlikely pair: the golden boy and the black sheep. Maybe that’s why their brothers don’t notice that they’re sleeping together.
Relationships: Glenn Fraldarius/Miklan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 115





	baby pull me closer

**Author's Note:**

> _So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover_
> 
> Believe it or not, I didn’t think about that song at all until my partner said something about it. Anyways, is this the fate of every Sylvix fan? To start unpacking Felix and Sylvain’s histories and therefore coming to care about their brothers’ parts in those histories and therefore, the brothers themselves? Take this porn.
> 
> [cherry](https://twitter.com/cherryconke) once again blessed me with fanart for one of my fics, and the piece for this one can be found [here](https://twitter.com/cherryconke/status/1210444358559776768?s=20)! give her likes, RT's, and all the kind words she deserves!

First it was hanging out - them side by side in the front seats of Miklan’s SUV, passing a joint between them for the length of whatever art house movie Sylvain and Felix were pretending to watch while they were holding clammy hands and making eyes at each other. Miklan had thought Glenn was an uppity little bitch at first, too self-important and caught up in his family’s lapdog status, but he was different, enough like his dad to stay in his good graces but enough of his own person for Milkan to trust him as a friend and not a member of the Blaiddyd-Fraldarius-Gautier circlejerk fucking cult. 

They talked about their dads,

(Miklan’s? Shitty, neglectful, too fixated on Mik’s do-no-wrong baby brother to notice his first son maybe could have used some goddamn fatherly advice before he turned into something they’d someday be ashamed of. Glenn’s? Overbearing and too fixated on tradition, supportive but suffocating, convinced his two sons were Dimitri Alexandre and Glenn Hector instead of Glenn Hector and Felix Hugo,)

their younger brothers,

(Felix, brilliant but emotional, a classic case of a child born as a backup and living in their sibling’s shadow and Sylvain, a perpetual flirt at only seventeen, taking everything Miklan had ever had or wanted,)

each other,

(“So basically, I’m perfect, and you’re an ogre,” Glenn had laughed once, cheeks hollowing as he puffed on the joint, sucking the smoke into his lungs before exhaling, fogging the windows of Miklan’s SUV with breath that Miklan wanted to suck into his suddenly starving lungs,)

and everything in between. 

(Miklan had confessed once with a sharp, bitter edge to his voice that it was a good, goddamn, motherfucking thing he wasn’t the family’s perfect breeding stallion he’d been born to be, because no matter how much porn he might have wanted to whack his dick to, he couldn’t get it up for a girl. Glenn, high as a kite with loose lips, had more than once lamented not fucking up a little more as a kid instead of a teen, wished he’d been a little less perfect before they’d decided he was a martial arts prodigy or something and therefore destined to be another Blaiddyd bodyguard, to die in the line of duty like so many good Fraldarius men before him.)

Then it was making out - them in the back seat of the Range Rover, hands all over each other, tongues and teeth and hunger. They weren’t supposed to do it, and so they did. Glenn was the first-born Fraldarius and the Miklan was the Gautier reject, but the taste of each other’s mouths on a shared joint was no longer enough to satisfy them. It was Miklan in the relative comfort of a luxury leather seat and Glenn straddling his waist, muscular thighs and choice ass bearing down on Miklan’s lap until his cock was thick and hard in his jeans. It was Glenn’s fingers up under Miklan’s shirt to map out planes of hot, toned flesh and it was Glenn’s hand popping the button on Miklan’s jeans like he’d done it a million times, as confident with a cock in his grip as he was with a sword. It was Miklan’s hand fisted greedy in the base of Glenn’s ponytail to guide the grind of their mouths against each other and it was his dick sliding against Glenn’s spit-wet perineum.

(Miklan getting some that night had been unexpected.. He’d half expected Glenn to blueball him just to be a fucker, but he’d been pleasantly surprised. It was the logical progression, after all, Glenn laid out across the backseat to try the taste of Miklan’s cock on his tongue and the feel of his balls in his hand, Miklan’s fist a tight hole for Glenn to fuck into as he jerked him off. They hadn’t had near enough lubrication, but they’d fumbled through it anyway and gotten the tip of his dick into Glenn’s unyielding body before they’d both decided they needed to wait. It wasn’t so bad, though - maybe Miklan liked being in a little bit of pain, chafing his dick on a hole not nearly slick enough for it, or maybe he liked causing pain. Who knew? He came either way.)

Thankfully, their precious baby brothers were too fixated on each other that night to notice the way Miklan’s brown eyes were blown black with desire as he watched Glenn walk to his own car when their brothers’ date was over. Felix was too preoccupied with dodging Sylvain’s kisses (“not in front of my _brother,_ Sylv!”) to see that Glenn’s scarf barely covered the line of hickeys Miklan had collared him with, and Sylvain was too preoccupied with texting Felix paragraphs of lines he’d borrowed from the poetry he consumed like candy to notice his brother’s less-than-subtle semi he sported the whole drive home, because it hadn’t fucking gone down when Glenn made him come. How was that even a thing?

—

Today, they’d brought their baby brothers to a concert. Sylvain was old enough to drive, now - nineteen and liberated, but he’d somehow bribed Miklan into driving them because parking would have been hell and Glenn came for… some reason he couldn’t even remember giving Felix. 

(Really, the reason for coming was that Glenn and Miklan had been hooking up for months, hidden under the guise of “nothing better to do” friends while their brothers hung out. The reason was that they couldn’t get enough of each other; that Glenn had a particular fondness for the way Miklan growled when he felt Glenn’s tongue press past his rim before his fingers and his dick followed suit, that Miklan stayed up every night he wasn’t balls deep in Glenn beating his dick until it _hurt_ thinking about the next time he could bury himself balls deep in Glenn.)

The concert was for some local band whose lyrical poetry Sylvain idolized performing some concept album Felix had fallen head over heels for; a once in a lifetime, one-night-only show. A medley of the lyrics was burned into Glenn’s brain because Felix had been listening to the original on repeat, the aux cord in his car perpetually supplying a steady stream of scratchy teen voices telling stories of melancholia that his little brother ate up eagerly. Miklan had outlawed the music for the drive (“Fuck no, we aren’t gonna suffer through that shit just because you’re torturing yourselves with it”) and the radio was left on a low murmur of some rock playlist he’d curated. _Life sucks_ music, _I hate my dad_ music, _fuck you_ music. 

(The same thing they listened to when they fooled around; music that got blood pumping, that thrummed in Glenn’s ears alongside the dirty talk Miklan growled into it when his thick dick was stretching him wide, filling him up.)

“Have fun,” Glenn said as Felix and Sylvain scurried out of the backseat as soon as they pulled up to the venue, long before Miklan even slid the shift up to the _P._ “We’ll pick you up here, or we won’t pick you up.” 

Felix scoffed at his joke, but Sylvain shot him a wink and laced his fingers through Felix’s, linking their hands as they walked into the bustling line outside the venue. 

“So, what are we doing, big guy?” Glenn asked once he’d watched them go and they had disappeared through the doors. “Are you taking me on a surprise date or are you doing the bare minimum yet again?”

“I don’t need to take you on a date to get some,” Miklan grunted, gruff and abrasive, a personality like low-grit sandpaper, a rusty blade. It was what Glenn liked about him, that blatant disregard for the manners he’d been bred with, the candidness his own sarcasm appreciated; a perfect mate.

“You’re a fucking animal, you know that?” Glenn scoffed, but as he plopped his chin onto his hand and stared out the tinted window, he hid a smile. 

Miklan curled a fist around Glenn’s wrist and tugged it between his legs, nudging his fingers over the growing bulge there. “That’s why you like me. Bitches love a real animal.” 

“Yeah, okay, Miklan, like it wasn’t _my_ dick in _your_ ass the other night? Who’s the bitch?” Glenn snapped back, dodging the fist that came swinging at his shoulder with an expert shrug and a slow smile. “My bad, Mik. I forgot! I’m the only one who gets fucked in this relationship.”

“You’re the one with the pussy that’s getting fucked tonight,” Miklan reasoned as Glenn palmed over his cockhead through his jeans. “Got it?”

Oh, yeah. He got it. Miklan didn’t miss the way Glenn shuddered or the way his grip tightened, less stroking his cock and more tugging on the damn thing, eager to get it out of his pants. He could relate; he wanted it out, too. Listening to Sylvain’s sappy sweet talk and Felix’s half-hearted attempts to pretend he didn’t like it had grated on his last fucking nerve, but Glenn’s hand on his knee the whole drive (mercifully hidden from their brothers’ views by the center console) has promised him a reprieve before the night was over.

They made a corner of the venue’s expansive real estate theirs, parking the Rover in a spot where the lights bordering the lot didn’t quite meet. A dark haven in a well-lit lot, good enough to fuck out the tension.

(They were experts at this by now, not out of shame but out of necessity: the fact that Miklan’s place was a fucking mess, the fact that they actually got off on the fact that they could get caught, the fact that Glenn’s dad would have shit a brick if he knew. Neither of them thought Rodrigue was ready to find out he had not one but _two_ sons with a taste for Gautier boys.)

Glenn had prepped a fair amount beforehand, opting for a long shower that was one part washing up and three parts down on all fours on the rug in his bathroom, fucking himself open on three fingers and knowing that wasn’t even half as much as Miklan’s cock. That was the thought that had kept him going, made his mouth water, made him squeeze his eyes shut tight and ignore Felix’s impatient knocking, caught up in the imagined feel of Miklan filling him so full it ached. 

Getting the position right took some finesse. It took Glenn on the passenger side of the backseat, raising up enough to tug his pants and boxer briefs down and off, leaving them in a pile in the floorboard with his boots. Miklan waited, watching, slouched enough so that the bulge tenting his jeans was obvious, looking at Glenn with dark eyes that said what his mouth didn’t waste time with: _what the fuck are you waiting for?_ It took careful maneuvering, considering that Miklan’s bulk took up more room than was convenient and Glenn was all legs.

Lubed as he was, Glenn knew it wasn’t enough. Not for any dick and certainly not for Miklan’s, but they’d never again made the same mistake as the first time. Now, they had lube in the center console, out of sight but barely hidden if you even dared to rummage through Miklan Gautier’s personal belongings. He rummaged until he found the prized bottle they’d picked up from some hole-in-the-wall sex shop and threw it in the seat beside them.

Glenn pulled Miklan’s muscle tee up over his head, tossing it into the floorboard and sitting back enough to pop the button on Miklan’s jeans and extricate his cock from his boxers. It was searing hot in his palm, jutting up from the patch of dark hair leading down from his belly, and Glenn wanted it.

(God, did he want it. He wanted _him_. Miklan, the black sheep, the forbidden apple from the tree that he had fallen so far from. He spent so much time now just thinking about Miklan. About the look and feel of his cock, thick as a Coke can and so heavy it hung just so to the left against the muscular slope of his thigh. About the angry red of his cockhead, about the way he shuddered when Glenn nuzzled the length against his cheek and circled his tongue beneath his foreskin, how he growled like a feral beast when his cock fucked Glenn open. About his big, heavy balls coated in their fine fuzz of hair and how the right amount of pressure on his hole could make him fall apart. About how all Miklan could say when Glenn’s dick fucked into him was a slew of curses. _Fuck. Hell. Shit, baby._ )

“You’re so fucking hot,” Miklan said, an easy, cheap cop-out of a compliment, but it was true. Glenn was hot as shit; pretty and willowy, but so _built_ at the same time. His long hair made him look like some kind of ages-old warrior, so goddamn good that he was undefeated and begging someone to just fucking _try it_ , to grab it and pull him down, _hold him_ down, fuck him open until it was a medley of sex sounds dripping from his tongue instead of syrupy sarcasm. Miklan could be that guy. Miklan _was_ that guy.

Glenn pressed back against the inside of the door to give Miklan room to scoot more into the center of the backseat before he swung a leg over the man’s thighs, settling his naked lower half against Miklan’s half-clothed one. What a pair they made: Miklan, shirtless with his jeans pushed halfway down his thighs, Glenn with his sweater pushed up around his chest, naked from the waist down. It was a good look for him, Miklan thought. Embarrassing, even, for the perfect first child of Rodrigue Achille to be all grown up and gagging for the Gautier reject’s cock.

(Miklan liked Glenn, sure. Maybe he even loved him, even if his friends told him over beers that he was a pussy-whipped bitch, but it made his dick twitch with so much self-righteous interest that it _hurt_ just to see perfect Glenn Fraldarius straddling his waist, just to be passed a bottle of lube from Glenn Fraldarius’ hand, to know that first his fingers and then his cock were yet again going up Glenn Fraldarius’ coveted ass.)

Glenn bent to kiss Miklan’s bare, hairy chest and said, “Tell me something I don’t know, dumbass.”

“According to you, you know everything,” Miklan groused, but there was a fondness in it, something Glenn had never seen him direct at anyone else. Something only for _him,_ something he didn’t think he’d care so much about until he did _._

“That’s because I’m perfect, remember?” Glenn laughed, then added, “Or did you forget that too, like you forgot you love dick?”

Miklan uncapped the lube and let it drip onto his fingers, rubbing them to coat them and scowling, “Shut up.”

Glenn would have said more, but Miklan’s hand was curling around his hip, the pads of rough fingers coaxing at his hole and finding it wet with lube from his shower, dipping a finger inside and finding his walls slick and accommodating. One became two, scissored them slow and steady, stretching him for it. Glenn didn’t often shut up, too sarcastic and obnoxious to know when to zip his pretty lips but two fingers giving way to three sure did the trick.

“Shit, Glenn,” Miklan groaned as Glenn started grinding his hips, driving his fingers deeper, body begging for more. It slotted their cocks together, sending a shock of pleasure through both of them, amplified by the sure, steady fingers Glenn trailed over both of their tips. “If you don’t ride my dick, I-“

Glenn leaned in to kiss him, sharp and hungry, teeth tugging on Miklan’s bottom lip as he rode his fingers. His kisses were impatient, fiery, not at all gentle and everything they both wanted, punctuating his words in staccato. “ ‘m going to,” he panted, letting go of Miklan’s shoulder that he’d held for balance in favor of getting both hands around their dicks. His dick wasn’t small, but Miklan’s was fucking _huge,_ so thick he could barely get a hand around it, and he was so into that, staring between them at the heads of their cocks drooling precum onto his fingers in rapt fascination. “They’ll be in that concert for a while, are you dumb?”

 _No,_ Miklan thinks. _But I’ll fuck_ you _dumb._

Like he’d heard him, Glenn’s eyes snapped up to meet his. So dark red they were almost black, his eyes scanned Miklan’s face, offering one last slow, intentional roll of his hips as Miklan’s fingertips nudged his prostate. “Don’t,” he instructed, and it sounded more like a plea than his normal bossy tone.

He rose up, anchoring his knees on the smooth leather seat and reached beneath him to curl a hand around the thick base of Miklan’s cock, holding it steady as Miklan squirted some more lube onto his palm, reaching beneath him to slick up his cock. He indulged in a few wet, sloppy tugs before smacking Glenn’s ass to tell him to get a move on, the sound sharp and loud in the stillness of the car.

“Fuck, baby,” Miklan growled, and Glenn rose a little higher still, letting Miklan’s cockhead nudge his hole. Firmly, simply, he repeated, “ _Ride my dick._ ”

Glenn sank onto his slick length with a shudder, the sheer girth of it knocking the breath from his chest as it always had (and always would) no matter how many times he took it. Fully seated on it, body clutching at the thick, rigid whole of him, he brought his hands to Miklan’s shoulders for balance and pressed his forehead to his.

“You… this… _fucking asshole,”_ Glenn panted, cock bobbing as he moved on top of him. Miklan resisted the horny high schooler part of him that couldn’t help thinking _I’m fucking_ your _asshole_ and brought his hands to his favorite places on Glenn: left hand in his hair, right hand on his hip. He tugged on Glenn’s ponytail, yanking his head back to bare his neck, sucking and biting as his boyfriend rode his dick, started a steady rise and fall. Miklan’s hand felt blindly down his side and over his waist, over the puffy _m-_ shaped scar on the sharp jut of Glenn’s hip from the time Miklan had wanted to test his new Christmas present: a Swiss Army knife that had sliced into skin like butter, a tangible way of saying what the older Gautier always insisted: _you’re mine_.

Glenn’s movements became messier as Miklan’s dick filled him up, hips fluttering as the tip pressed against the spot inside. The slap of skin on skin seemed deafening in the small space of the Rover’s backseat and Miklan sounded almost bestial, growling every time Glenn slammed down onto him. He circled the hard length of Glenn’s cock in a meaty fist and squeezed, almost painfully hard, and Glenn bucked onto it and cried out, nodding as his fingers made a mess of Miklan’s shoulders. Really, Glenn dragged his hands down every inch of Miklan he could reach, leaving red welts on his hairy chest, bruises in the shape of fingertips on his bulging biceps. 

Miklan _did_ something to him, left him empty and hungry, a desirous ache that felt raw, fresh like a wound every time he saw him, ceasing only when they were like this in the backseat of his SUV, the one time they’d dared it in Glenn’s bedroom right under Rodrigue’s nose, anywhere they could get hands on each other and dicks in each other.

Miklan wasn’t a talker during sex, probably because he wasn’t a talker, period. The most he said once anyone’s cock disappeared into the other was the occasional _fuck yeah_ or a _like that._ Sometimes a “shit, bitch” if they were playing rough, punctuated with a sharp slap to Glenn’s ass. Tonight was no different, Miklan’s face screwed up in concentration as he bucked his hips up to meet Glenn, balls slapping against him with the force of his movements.

“Mik,” Glenn panted, cock drooling precum over Miklan’s fist as he rode. He was close, he could feel it - his balls felt tight, the hot ache in his belly was undeniable, the way his words turned indecipherable as he bounced on Miklan’s cock.

He came with a shudder, slurring out a bleary “Miklan…” as he settled, ducking his head to lay it against Miklan’s shoulder as he licked his dry lips to wet them. Miklan grumbled, thumb and forefinger digging in sharp to the meat of Glenn’s thigh in a pinch _far_ too close to his balls for his liking. 

“Greedy bitch,” he grumbled, letting his hands take up matching positions on Glenn’s hips to hold him there, to use his hole with reckless abandon if he needed. “I’m not done.”

“Get it over with,” Glenn sighed, grinding down against him. Miklan was close, too, he could tell. He knew him well enough, knew himself, knew that when Miklan’s eyes looked like _that,_ all dark as pitch and glinting sinister it meant he was going to come. “Come in me, you disgusting animal.”

Miklan slammed home with one last thrust, dragging his hands down Glenn’s hips and over the curve of his ass as he filled him. He knew they should probably be using condoms. He also didn’t care. There was something hot about coming raw in Glenn Fraldarius, something hot about coming raw in _his boyfriend_ and it made him ache in the best way, made his dick give a vaguely interested twinge.

“Fuck,” was all Miklan said as Glenn climbed off, retrieving his pants and underwear from the floorboard and lifting himself off the seat to tug them on. Miklan tucked his spent cock back into his boxers and pulled his jeans up, watching Glenn. The slope of his back as he bent to free his foot from the tangle of his tight pant leg, the sex flush that still spread across his body, the way he looked over his shoulder with a cocky grin.... he knew he was looking, and he liked it. Miklan wasn’t quite ready to confront the feelings he had for Glenn beyond raw, unbridled lust, but if he’d been shown just a small scrap of it as a kid he’d be pretty sure it was love. Hell, he was still pretty sure it was love, or maybe it was the afterglow making Glenn look like some kind of god. 

“Do you think they’re ever going to notice?” Glenn asked, tossing Miklan his shirt and leaning over to kiss him, easing his tongue into his mouth like he’d been doing it for years. Easy, familiar, equal parts lustful and loving. “Or are they too wrapped up in each other?”

“Not a damn chance,” Miklan laughed, tugging his now (sadly) clothed boyfriend into his lap and pushing his sweater up again to keep greedy hands on his belly and his chest. “Fine by me. You think I want our brothers interrupting our sex? Fuck, no.”

**Author's Note:**

> I chose “Hector” as Glenn’s middle name because Rodrigue’s middle name, “Achille” was (probably) derived from Achilles (even though it does have a French origin + meaning of “thin-lipped”? ew) who is, of course, a Greek warrior… and Hector is arguably one of the other most famous warriors in Greek mythology even if he fought against the Greeks. Fun fact, I also wanted it to start with an H so that I could headcanon that Felix (who I headcanon as afab trans) chose a name that started with the same letter as his beloved older brother. ;) 
> 
> The concert that Felix and Sylvain are attending is a performance of Ludo’s Broken Bride EP.
> 
> Miklan’s favorite band is Volbeat. His siriusxm is always tuned in to the Octane station. 
> 
> Glenn’s favorite lube is Pjur, the kind with the relaxant because Miklan’s dick is huge and it makes it easier. The lube Miklan keeps in his car is Colt Slick or something similar, because it’s cheap and comes in a small bottle that’s easy to store in the console or the glove compartment.
> 
> I am [tsunderestorm](twitter.com/tsunderestorm)on twitter ♥


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